Each season the fashion mags publish their “Must Have Fashion” lists and each season I’m left drooling over Marc, Louis, and McQueen, wishing that my bank account was a little fuller. OK, a lot fuller. And it’s worse in the summer. Summer trends are among my favorite: the sunglasses, bikinis, embellished tank tops, and all the wonderful accessorizing opportunities! It’s a party in my head… until I hit that one item that makes me want to vomit.
It always happens:
The go-go boot trend of ’03.
Pastel plaids of ’98.
Tech-Vests of ’01
Well, 2010 has rolled out quite a few tragedies of its own and instead of drooling, I’m left wondering WTF designers are smoking this season. Get ready to avert your eyes.
Got legs for days and a butt like Jessica Biel? Then rock on with your booty shorts. Just an average girl hanging out at the beach? Opt for something that fully covers both cheeks. This is one of those trends that works better on the runway than in real life. And if you’re one of those stubborn fashion slaves who insists on being oh-so current, might I suggest buying some Hanes granny panties, hiking them way up and throwing a t-shirt on?
Over-the-knee and thigh high socks.
If you want to channel the cast of Clueless, buy a feathered pen, but for the love of hot weather, please leave the knee-highs to the Catholic school girls. The inevitable leg sweat and 90-degree July heat both put a damper and a sweatstain on this questionable look. I’m pretty sure Karl Lagerfeld didn’t intend on back-of-the-knee pit stains to become a subsequent trend.
Well, since you’ve already got sweaty legs from those socks you’re wearing, might as well get the moist feet to match. Nothing screams “my toes need deodorant” quite like rubber shoes. They were cute when you were nine, not so much at nineteen. Try again, fashionistas.
I get it; it’s a modern take on flapper-chic. But as long as you’re not going to Gatsby’s for summer cocktails, leave this trend back in the store for someone else to buy. Mark my words, in two months you’ll look back at that Facebook picture where you’re swinging your hips as your fringed dress fans out around you, and want to die. Un-tag.